


ecosystem

by roadsider



Series: sterek week ficlets [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Kiss, M/M, Near Death Experience, as it turns out mermaids are assholes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 06:06:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1847197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roadsider/pseuds/roadsider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because of course a mermaid would stick its claws right through Derek’s chest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ecosystem

**Author's Note:**

> some descriptions of blood, canon-typical violence, nothing overly graphic.

"Holy fuck," Stiles gasps. "Holy fuck, holy fuck,  _Derek—_ ”

The attack had come out of nowhere, and Derek had lost consciousness within seconds.   
  
Stiles crouches over Derek, hands sliding over Derek’s rapidly paling skin, fingers slippery with blood. There’s just so much blood, too much blood, spilling down Derek’s stomach and pooling on the ground around them. And it’s looking like not even Derek’s accelerated healing can keep up with that much blood loss.  
  
Stiles clutches him tight. For the very first time, he has absolutely no idea what to do. There are four deep gouges in Derek’s chest, right over his heart.   
  
Because  _of course_  a mermaid would  _stick its claws right through Derek’s chest_.   
  
Somehow, applying pressure to the wound doesn’t seem like it’d be very effective. Stiles hadn’t even brought his first aid kit.   
  
This was supposed to be recon. Things weren’t supposed to get violent. Though who knows why they’d expected any different; it’s  _them_ , after all. It’s not like they haven’t been in life-or-death situations before, but somehow it had never been this bad. Somehow, it had never ended with Derek unconscious in Stiles’ arms.   
  
But no. It can’t  _end_  like this. It can’t.   
  
_Fucking mermaids_ , Stiles thinks vapidly, hot tears pooling in his eyes.  
  
(He’d teased Derek about the mermaids, because of course he had.  
  
"So what’s the plan, then, we’re gonna prance into their underwater kingdom and tell Ariel and her magical friends to kindly vacate the premises?"  
  
Derek’s face had twisted like he’d tasted something sour. “Technically, mermaids are no more magical than werewolves. And no, we’re not going to tell them anything just yet, we’re just going to go inspect the extent of the damage.”  
  
"Damage?"   
  
"They feed off fish blood, and they’ve decimated the lake’s population, which, besides disrupting the whole ecosystem, is going to draw a lot of local attention which  _I do not want_.”  
  
"It’s so sweet that you’re so passionate about the environment." Stiles had said, mostly succeeding in withholding his laughter. Derek scowled.  
   
"Shut up and drive."  
  
It’d been silent for a moment, Stiles tapping at the steering wheel. ”So, basically they’re like vampires, then.”  
  
"No. They’re nothing like vampires, Stiles. They’re mermaids. They feed off blood, but—"  
  
"Mer-vampires."  
  
"No," Derek had grunted. " _Mermaids_. Now shut up and drive.”)  
  
And then Stiles had shut up and stepped on the gas and look where that had got them.  
  
He stares down at Derek’s face, the circles under his eyes looking bruise-black under his lashes.  
  
"Holy shit. You’re paler than I am. How much blood have you lost? Fuck. Fuck, Derek, what the fuck, talk to me," Stiles is babbling, desperate.   
  
"This was such a stupid fucking idea, you know that? I can’t even go get help, because we’re in the middle of fucking nowhere, and my phone’s back at the jeep, because you insisted on us stripping and leaving everything there. Look where that’s got us, huh? You and your stupid fucking ideas. I don’t know why I listen to you. Fuck, you’re such a fucking idiot, and now you’re bleeding out in my lap. Fuck. Holy fuck, Derek."  
  
Stiles shifts, presses two careful fingers against Derek’s carotid. He can’t find a pulse. Stiles feels faint, can hear his own breath coming in gasps.  
  
"Derek. You fucking asshole. You’re not allowed to die on me, you hear? You’re not fucking allowed."  
  
That’s when Stiles really starts crying, Derek’s cold, white body clutched to his chest.  
  
It’s not fucking fair. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Just ten minutes ago, he was ogling Derek’s bare ass as he waded into the lake. They were just supposed to sniff around a bit —literally, in Derek’s case— and then get out of here, and Stiles was going to bitch about having to drive home in wet underwear and— this was not supposed to happen.  
  
Derek was not supposed to get hurt. And he was most definitely, definitely not supposed to die.   
  
All of a sudden, the smallest, wettest-sounding gasp comes from Derek’s lips.   
  
To Stiles, it sounds like an explosion.  
  
A sob freezes halfway in his throat.  
  
Time seems to stand still.  
  
And then Derek sucks in a shallow breath, then another, and a couple of gushing pulses of blood later, the torn muscles between his ribs start to knit together.  
  
Stiles watches, numb from shock and relief, as smooth pink skin finally stretches over where the wound had been. He’s still crying, can’t seem to do anything about that, watches as his tears join the blood still dripping down Derek’s now unmarked chest.  
  
Derek’s eyes finally flutter open a moment later.   
  
But it’s only when Derek makes a small, lost noise that Stiles is jolted out of whatever trance he’d been in.  
  
"Oh my god," he says, too loud in the near-silence. "I thought. Oh my god, Derek, you fucking asshole, I though you were _dead_.”  
  
Derek’s looking up at him, blinking slowly. He’s still pale, still looks like he’s a sneeze away from passing out, but his eyes are steadily regaining their brightness.  
  
Stiles feels— he’s just high off the relief, which is probably why he threads his bloody fingers through Derek’s matted hair and pulls him in for a kiss.  
  
Their lips collide too hard, and Stiles thinks his will probably bruise. Derek is too pliant, too still in his arms, and he doesn’t kiss him back.  
  
"Crap." Stiles pulls away.  
  
A little pucker of a frown forms between Derek’s eyebrows, and Stiles backs off further, as far as he can get while straddling him.  
  
"Sorry, fuck, Derek, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve done that, I really, fuck, I don’t know why I, but you were totally dead there for a moment, and—"  
  
"Stiles," Derek interrupts, voice a little hoarse.   
  
Stiles takes a deep, deep breath and tips his forehead against Derek’s. He squeezes his eyes closed.  
  
"Fuck, don’t scare me like that ever again, okay? That was fucking terrifying."  
  
"The kiss?"  
  
Stiles looks up, blinking at the amused tilt to Derek’s lips.  
  
"Um," he says, biting at his tongue. "I was referring to the dying thing, but I guess the kiss was kinda scary as well."  
  
Derek sighs, but it seems more fond than anything, as does the small smile quirking the corner of his mouth. His cheeks are looking decidedly more pink than they were a couple of minutes ago. ”Try it again?”  
  
Stiles feels hope and something soft flicker down his spine, pulling at his very core. He’s suddenly dizzy with all that’s happened in the past half hour, and can only stare as Derek’s smile grows wider, the corners of his eyes crinkling.   
  
"You know what they say about facing your fears," Derek teases after a pause, and Stiles can’t not roll his eyes at that.  
  
But he does lean forward, hands gently cradling the back of Derek’s neck, and kisses him again. This time, Derek kisses him back with a soft, solid press of lips that makes Stiles want to cry anew. He doesn’t, but he does press forward more insistently, Derek responding in kind, and the way Derek’s fingers press into the back of his neck distracts Stiles from that faint tangy-metallic taste on his tongue.  
  
He can feel dried tears on his cheek and his knees and hands are sticky with blood, but the flutter of warmth in his chest and the press of Derek’s smile against his makes it somehow okay.  
  
(The pack deals with the mermaids three days later, and no-one sustains so much as a scratch. A week after that, Stiles helps Derek start to carefully repopulate the lake. He insists on calling it a date, which ears him an unimpressed glare from Derek and a snort and a high-five from Scott. Go figure.)


End file.
